FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Chapter 3: That Question

Mark had watched movies before, the big blockbusters that come and go, leaving nothing but less money in your pocket and a few throwaway lines left in your head. It was just something to do to pass the time, after all, to him there wasn't much to actually do around where he lived. But this movie, Pulp Fiction, was a different watching experience altogether. Most movies were just mindless and ridiculous sequences of events that you could go home and forget, but not even halfway through the movie, Mark felt heavily invested in the plot. There were so many people to fear, to root for, so many quotable things had happened. One conversation stuck out to him the most:

"Don't you hate that?" the vixen, named Mia, began.

"What?" the wolf, named Vincent, replied.

"Uncomfortable silences. Why do we feel it's necessary to yak about bullshit in order to be comfortable?" Mia asked.

"I don't know. That's a good question." Vincent replied, the handsome wolf looking up from his Vanilla Coke.

"That's when you know you've found somebody special. When you can just shut the fuck up for a minute and comfortably enjoy the silence." Mia concluded.

Mark gazed over at Ryan, who was sitting to the right of him on the couch. The raccoon was watching intently, he had refrained from interrupting any dialogue in the movie thus far, clearly, he never got tired of watching the film.

The line that Mia had concluded with had very much struck a chord with Mark, he was in total silence with Ryan, the raccoon he had only known for perhaps the last couple of hours. Yet he couldn't remember any time he had felt this comfortable experiencing something with a friend in total silence. He had found somebody special.

It was a particularly dark movie, casually going over the topics of murder, rape and drug addiction, yet it found the time to be funny and extremely interesting. Some moments were just priceless, Butch pulling up to the traffic signals only to see the very man trying to kill him crossing, Jules' 'BAD MOTHERFUCKER' wallet, the moment of divine intervention. It was a movie that was going about burning itself into Mark's head.

And then, like that, the movie ended and the credits started to roll. Mark had just finished piecing together the entire series of events into chronological order, allowing himself a moment to appreciate the true greatness of the movie and of Quentin Tarantino.

Ryan had turned to face him, excited smile on his face.

"Well?" he asked eagerly.

"Well. I think you were right, that was the best movie I've ever watched." Mark replied, barely managing to finish his sentence before Ryan started bouncing up and down on the couch.

"See! I told you! I told you!" he exclaimed gleefully, still bouncing up and down and wagging his tail aggressively.

The raccoon was so excited and energetic that Mark was legitimately concerned he was going to get up and run into a wall, the foxes' brows were raised way up before he burst into laughter, Ryan's excitement was just too intense to keep a straight face at.

Eventually Ryan stopped bouncing at fell back into the couch, taking the time to yawn and then sigh.

"So what now?" asked Ryan, who had exhausted himself from successfully sharing his favorite film.

"Uhhh..." Mark started to think of the questions that were once so fresh in his mind. 'Oh!' his surname.

"Do you have Facebook?" Mark asked, reaching for his phone.

"Oh yeah, I'll type my name in" Ryan leaned forward and extended his arm towards Mark, who handed him over his phone with Facebook open.

Mark watched Ryan quickly get to work, typing in his name and then tapping on the fairly plain profile that he arrived on. Mark wasn't a huge fan of sticking emojis everywhere and loads of photos he took, so his profiles on social media were much plainer than his peers, he didn't care much for numbers either so he had few friends or followers on everything.

Ryan handed him back his phone, still on his profile, Mark saw the checkmark that read 'request sent' on Ryan's profile. Ryan's profile picture was quite simple, it was just a selfie of him with a small smile on a plain background, 'cute' was the word Mark's brain used to describe it. Then Ryan's name followed, 'Ryan Waters'.

"You have a cute name." Mark found himself saying, realising that this could be construed as flirting far too late.

"Oh, thanks." Ryan's face lit up with a smile as he looked up from his phone, he was in the middle of accepting the request he had just sent. "You too, Mark Hill." he responded with a grin, to which Mark found himself blushing.

Then Mark noticed something else about Ryan's picture, the small rainbow colored ribbon at the bottom, Facebook's official LGBT Pride profile frame.

And then the burning question was back in Mark's head. THAT question.

Was Ryan gay?

Mark was comfortable around Ryan, he felt confident enough to ask him personal questions, but, there was no way he was just going to ask without the topic being a natural progression of their conversation. If Ryan was gay, then surely he'd tell him straight up and one time or another.

"What's your number?" Ryan asked, thumbs at the ready.

Mark went ahead and gave it to Ryan. He got a text that read 'hi' and then saved the number as Ryan's.

'So he has a Pride filter on his profile pic, no mentions of having a girlfriend or other relationship and he just got your number. Good job leading the guy on Mark.' he thought to himself.

He still wasn't brave enough to ask, so he just had to hope that he wasn't gay and instead just was a regular, LGBT+ supporting, single guy.

'Probably best to move on to other concerns, like how long I should stay here.'

Mark had been offered the chance to stay as long as he wanted, but he was becoming increasingly uncomfortable by the prospect that he was leading on Ryan into something that he didn't want. That could ruin their friendship. He couldn't stay over and he wasn't sure if he could stay here much longer without being plagued by guilt and... Shame?

He looked at the time on his phone. 8:23pm. It probably was about time to get going anyway.

"Hey, thanks so much for having me over, really, I had a great time. Not to mention the movie was amazing. But I really need to be getting home." Mark said, disappointed that he felt he had to go home.

"Oh really, no problem, thanks for coming over. I'm glad you enjoyed Pulp Fiction." Ryan replied, both boys stood up and started moving towards the door. "How are you getting home?" Ryan inquired.

"Oh I was thinking of just getting the bus, it's not too far away to the stop is it?" Mark said, not quite convinced it was as easy as he made it out to be.

"Are you sure you don't want me to ask my mom to take you home?" Ryan offered kindly.

Mark paused, he didn't want to ask Mrs. Waters for anything that wasn't offered to him explicitly, at the same time, he had no idea when the bus would come. Also, Subaru.

"Oh only if she wouldn't mind."

"I'm sure she wouldn't." Ryan said confidently.

The boys made their way downstairs, Mark checked his pockets.

'Phone, check. Wallet, check. Keys, check.' All was in order.

Ryan looked into the living room, there was no sign of Mr. Waters, however Mrs. Waters was there, still watching television. She turned to face the two of them.

"Hey Mom, would it be OK for you to give Mark a lift back?"

"Of course honey, whereabouts do you live Mark?" Mrs. Waters said, shifting her gaze over to Mark.

"I live up in Highgate." replied Mark in a polite tone of voice.

"Oh that's fine then." said Mrs. Waters, her face showing a reassuring smile.

"Thank you very much Mrs. Waters" Mark said, as politely as he possibly could.

"You are very welcome Mark." she responded, also in a polite manner.

The drive home was relatively uneventful, Mark was enjoying the soft grumble of the boxer engine and could have happily fired off questions about the car, however Mrs. Waters and him were, of course, engaged in conversation about high school and colleges. She seemed very impressed at the colleges that Mark was to apply to, even though Mark was almost certain he was not good enough for any of them.

Still, Mark did manage to learn some information about Ryan, in true mother's form, Mrs. Waters managed to mention embarrassing things for Ryan, like him peeing in a public swimming pool, his strange pronunciations for some words, the fact he had plush toys that he kept hidden during the day. In between their civil conversation about education and embarrassing details about Ryan, Mark was able to figure out that the family had lived in Clear Springs for a very long time, the reasons for the move, however, were still unclear to Mark.

Some small details in their conversation stood out to Mark, Mrs. Waters had mentioned plenty about Ryan's friends over in Clear Springs, however, had not mentioned anything about Ryan's current friends. Mrs. Waters comments about it being good for Ryan 'to have a friend over for once', didn't signal that Ryan had a wide social circle. Mark couldn't comprehend why Ryan wouldn't have many friends, he was a nice, approachable, handsome and outgoing guy, wasn't he?

Their conversation died down as they drove into the affluent neighbourhood of Highgate and Mark had to give directions, he knew the place reeked of old money and conservatism, the sheer volume of luxury cars in the area probably made up a significant chunk of statewide car sales. Soon enough they found themselves outside of Mark's house, the sun had yet to set but it was definitely getting late.

"Thanks so much for having me Mrs. Waters." Mark said as he began to exit the car.

"My pleasure, I'm sure Ryan enjoyed himself too. Take care!" Mrs. Waters called back, to which Mark waved back to her, before she began pulling away.

There were two cars parked out on the paved driveway, his Dad's BMW 5 series and his Mother's Range Rover Autobiography, Ryan's own car would be tucked away safely in the garage. He couldn't imagine how wealthy the family appeared to Ryan's Mom.

Highgate was expensive, yes, but to Mark, the exclusivity of the neighbourhood only harmed him. All his neighbours were old and retired, their children had gone through an Ivy League college and now worked some high-up job, probably saving to come and buy a place in Highgate so that the cycle could continue. Every other person his age was unbelievably protected and snobby, he found he couldn't get along with any of them, not that he got along well with many people.

Perhaps it was the fact that Mark's family hadn't always lived like this that annoyed him the most. They used to live over in the big city, in a very modest apartment, that was before his mother had found her calling as a very successful businesswoman, and also before his father's accidents. The place they lived at had plenty of people Mark's age, he distinctly remembered watching Saturday cartoons in their small dwelling, with up to 4 other young children. He couldn't think of the last time he had over 1 person that he knew visiting his house, aside from family.

Mark's mother had once been employed as a typical corporate Psychologist, employed at some larger coaching firm and paid a modest amount. It was through pure coincidence that she earned many, many times more and started her own business. Mark thought that it was quite a funny story. One business had a completely dysfunctional workplace, where there were gangs in the office who claimed certain parts as their turf. During one of his mother's team-building presentations, one of the groups kept interrupting and heckling her. Of course, being a professional, she kept her cool, that was until someone insulted her choice of shoes. Of course the details had gone slightly fuzzy after around 10 years, but his mother was described as turning into a classical era empress. She had screamed so much and performed such ruthless character assassinations, that only 2 days later, the office was at it's highest levels of productivity ever. The office employees reportedly refused to use the meeting room for months afterwards. Apparently his mother thought she could turn this service into a business, and she wasn't wrong, company after company rushed to hire her. A few years later, the family lived in Highgate. This was especially funny to Mark considering that his mother was one of the kindest and most warm-hearted people he knew, bossy, but an amazing and generous mother.

Mark reached for the keys in the back pocket of his jeans, before inserting and opening the grand door that lead into his house. Two voices greeted him from the room to his left.

"Hi Son!" his father called.

"Welcome home Son!" his mother shouted, still intently typing an email on her laptop as she sat on the couch.

Mark walked into the living room to say hi to his parents. In his family, it was customary that conversation followed someone entering the house. He plopped himself onto the large leather couch that dominated the end of the room.

"Hi Mom, hi Dad." Mark said, shifting his position so he was lying down.

"Did you have fun with your friend?" his Mother asked, finishing up her email before looking at Mark, showing a warm smile.

"Yeah we did, Ryan's a really nice guy, we watched Pulp Fiction together. It's a really really good movie." Mark responded, feeling tired from the lack of physical activity he had engaged in for the past couple of hours

"Me and your mother went and saw that movie back in 1994, I didn't think you'd like it." his father responded.

"What! Why would I not like it? It was funny, interesting and just an amazing movie, like, the best one I've ever seen!" Mark exclaimed back.

His father shrugged, "I don't know, I just guess I didn't think of it. What's Ryan like?"

"He's a raccoon, my age, in my year though I'd never seen him around before. He's really nice and friendly." Mark said, a smile appearing on his face at the thought of his friend.

"He have many friends, girlfriend?" his father asked, casually transitioning into sensitive topics for Mark as his Mom looked on.

"I don't know, he didn't mention any other friends or a girlfriend." Mark replied, hoping that his father would refrain from launching a lecture about approaching girls.

"Really? Sounds like a guy like him would have a girlfriend. A guy like you especially, don't you talk to lots of girls?" his Dad went on to ask.

Mark grimaced internally, his stomach began to tighten and he felt his nerves come on.

"No, not really Dad." Mark replied, sounding acutely defeated.

"Are there not any girls you like in your year?" his Dad unfortunately went on to ask.

Mark began to fiddle with his fur.

"No Dad, I don't really like any girls in my year." Mark said, unsure if he was telling the truth or lying to himself and his father.

"Really? Not one?" his father replied, a look of surprise and very mild horror on his face.

"Not one." Mark replied solemnly.

Before his father had a chance to spring a lecture on him, his mother interrupted.

"Oh by the way Mark, there's a package addressed to you in the kitchen." she said, mercifully sparing him from a dull and soul-crushing lecture on dating from his father.

Mark stood up and took the chance to ensure he was clear of a lecture by replying quickly.

"Oh I think I know what that is, thanks Mom!" Mark said hurriedly, before exiting the room.

He felt bad for basically running away from his father, but his Dad's lectures on dating always felt so out of touch and pressuring to listen to. It wasn't like he didn't want a girlfriend, he just didn't understand the huge rush that his father always seemed to imply. In fact, his father had been doing it for years, ever since he was about 11, only increasing with frequency as he got older. What purpose did it serve at this point, scratch that, what purpose did it ever serve? It's not like it was ever helpful either, it was always just go and talk to girls, smile and then ask them for their number. As if that was how it worked.

Mark walked into the large kitchen and dining room area, on the counter sat a large cardboard box, addressed to him. The return address was somewhere in Los Angeles and the description read 'Disc brakes QUANTITY: 4'. Mark knew what this was without looking at the obnoxiously large StopTech logo on the back of the box, the new big brake kit for his BMW, now him and Ryan had something to install together. Ryan.

'Ok, let's be honest with yourself here Mark, in a completely non-gay way, Ryan is cute and handsome. Yes?'

Yes.

'But you don't want him to be your boyfriend, because you're not gay?'

Also yes.

'So you don't want to risk him being gay and you leading him on?'

Very, very much yes.

'So why don't you just talk to him about it? It's not like he'd despise you for asking about him.'

Mark didn't have an answer for his own question. He guessed it was because it committed their relationship to one thing or the other, it had a permanent impact. It was the choice between a friendship that possibly lead into a relationship, or a friendship that was careful to never become a relationship.

He didn't know what he wanted.

Mark set the box down on the counter inside the garage, his car still looking relatively clean. He glanced at the stock brakes, they looked worn and dirty, Mark could just imagine the sight of brand new, gleaming, drilled rotors accompanied with red calipers. The first change to be made to the car. Then he headed towards the stairs and made his way to his room, where he laid down on his bed.

Mark began to think about relationships, about why he never had one, about their purpose.

Why didn't he have a girlfriend? He was sure that he scored highly out of 10, dressed well and was nice to talk to. But then the glaringly obvious thing was, he didn't know how to talk to girls. How did you even go about turning a boring conversation into one that signals you want to date? He just saw girls as friends that he was expected to date, that at one point, he was supposed to be like, 'Hey, we get on great together, you are a great friend to me, let's go and do an activity together and then at some point make out and then say we are in a relationship. Sound good?' How the hell did that even happen? What was even the point?

'Company, purpose, sex?' was the answer his mind offered.

Mark didn't know if it was strange, but he never connected as well with girls than he did with guys, of course he didn't connect well with a lot of people, but Ryan just proved to him that he got on better with guys. He didn't get any different feeling around girls than he did guys, in fact, interactions just felt slightly shallower.

And anyway, how did relationships offer purpose, what the hell did you even do in a relationship? Talk regularly, do stuff, do sexual stuff? Why would that ease the pain of existence? Sure he might be going off just adding friendship together with his extremely limited sexual experience, consisting of his paw and internet pornography. True, it felt good, for a while. Then it was over and feelings of shame, isolation and hopelessness just flood back to you. To Mark, the orgasm was way overhyped, it was easily the most inconvenient part, having to go and clean his sticky fur in exchange for a paltry and short experience of pleasure was barely worth it. Why would it be any different in a relationship? Less isolation? Is that it? It wasn't even as though sex would be better than it, surely it would just be him, a virgin, failing to satisfy someone else and just leading to increased shame and disappointment, another bad memory to plague his life.

It was like everyone else lived in a different world to him, in their world, being single was absolutely terrible and chasing after girls was like the secondary objective of every moment in life, sex being a close follow-up. The conversations he overheard in his high school actively disgusted him, talk of certain guys pressuring girls into sex at parties, the huge amount of drunken damage caused at every party, guys casually celebrating the fact they had sex without protection. What was the fucking point? Every single one of those conversations angered him. Who forced someone into sex? Who would jump on a roof? Who would risk pregnancy for a very marginal increase in feeling?

Apparently, all of his peers.

Mark just straight-up didn't get relationships, why did he even want one?

His earlier thoughts began to start reappearing in his head. The thought that he wanted to see Ryan naked, the thought that Ryan and him were meant for each other, the totally different feeling he got being around Ryan, the thought that he wanted to lock muzzles with Ryan and make out, the thoughts of Ryan being his boyfriend. His answer to all of these thoughts followed the same narrative, that he wasn't gay, that he needed a girlfriend to lock muzzles with instead, to see naked and feel different around.

Was it normal to have these thoughts? After all, he had ruled out being gay a long time ago, he just wasn't attracted to girls until a while after he hit puberty, that was how it worked right?

Mark reached for his phone, of course Google would be his friend. He opened an incognito tab and began typing his search.

'Is it normal to', he stopped, how should he word what he was doing? Think about other guys? Check out other guys? Think of being gay?

'Is it normal to think of being gay'

The page buffered for a second and then Mark saw, the search returned what seemed to be the worst. Result upon result of 'How to know you are gay', 'How to accept you are gay', 'Am I gay?'

He closed the tab.

'I'm not gay. It's just me having thoughts like that because I've never had a girlfriend, but I have closer friendships with guys.' he justified to himself.

It was 9:20 pm. Not time for him to go to bed, but he did feel unusually tired. Mark decided he would just watch YouTube in bed, a good way to relax.

Then it was 9:50 pm. Mark had watched videos ranging from reviews of old Lexus cars to videos from after-market parts manufacturers.

Then it was 10:30 pm and Mark had just finished reading about the history of Mitsubishi Heavy Industries and how they created the world's largest car carrier ship, just after he had read about the demise of the British car industry. Where did the time go?

But it didn't matter how many things he did to distract himself, he still felt uneasy at the question that he was actively trying to ignore, the question that had so much significance attached to it, the question that determined if he was living a lie or not.

'Am I straight?'